


the rapture, it's a hunger

by highfalutin baby birb (fevered_dreams)



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alpha Bruce Wayne, Alpha Damian Wayne, Alpha Dick Grayson, Alpha Jason Todd, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - No Powers, M/M, Manipulation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Omega Tim Drake, Possessive Behavior, Self-Indulgent, everyone loves tim drake (too much), high society - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-01-31 13:34:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21447019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fevered_dreams/pseuds/highfalutin%20baby%20birb
Summary: Tim's just trying to live his life and keep Drake Industries afloat as best and as quietly as he can.For some reason, the members of the Wayne family have different plans for him.Tim motions to nod because he knows all about the gruesome murder of Bruce Wayne’s parents, but the movement of Bruce Wayne’s hand stops him; big, warm fingers attached to a wide palm smooth down the side of his face before resting awfully heavy against the bottom of Tim’s chin.“I would never want someone as darling as you to feel upset,” Bruce Wayne whispers.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake/Damian Wayne, Tim Drake/Dick Grayson, Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Comments: 90
Kudos: 905





	1. Chapter 1

Tim meets Bruce first, surrounded by glaring bright lights and the incessant click of heels on freshly-waxed linoleum. Tonight, Tim has just turned nine, and it takes every futile ounce of effort in him to just even up with his mom as she strides across the floor, so self-assured and beautiful for it.

Fearless. Dauntless. A whirlwind force of a person packed tight into a five foot five package with loving, careful hands, determined to finish the job with nothing less than absolute perfection. She is an alpha, after all. They’re special people born specially to excel, and, oh, does Tim’s mom excel.

She takes a particularly long stride as she approaches a man standing in front of her. He’s otherwise preoccupied with conversation with another guest, turned almost completely away from the two of them as he gesticulates his apparently very wonderful point with bursts of excitement. At this rate, he’ll never see them coming in time to avoid getting hit, Tim thinks.

His mom steps again. The click of her designer heels rings impossibly loud, and the long line of her leg in her high-cut dress can only be described as art. 

As if on instinct, the strange man steps to the side. The path ahead of them remains clear. They continue on ahead, with his mother’s head raised high and the expression on her face the pure definition of stunning. 

Tim struggles to keep up. They gave him new suppressants recently, which he’s expected to take every single day without fail. It’s left him tired and a bit fuzzy around the corners of his eyes, at times, but he keeps on walking nonetheless because his mother wants him to.

Slowly, as if she’s read each racing thought of his, Tim’s mother turns her head to the side to glance back over her shoulder. The smile she gives him is barely-there, but Tim revels in it regardless, spurred on by the pleased wrinkle of her eyes. 

She generously extends a hand — the same one his father always kisses when he bids her farewell before yet another business trip. Eagerly, Tim laces his short, cracked fingers with her perfectly-kept ones with so much haste he nearly scratched himself on one of her manicured nails. 

He smiles sheepishly at her in the wake of his misstep. She just smiles back, amused in her exasperation.

Tim likes to see his mother smile.

With nothing more than a silent tilt of her head and brief tightening of her grip, she leads him on, and, dutifully, Tim follows. Whispers and murmurs follow them as they move. Tim can faintly hear whispers of ‘recently presented omega’ and ‘alpha patents’ and ‘must be so disappointed’, but he can hardly pay attention to any of that when his mother grips onto him so tight and warm.

He stumbles. She steadies him, effortlessly, and she doesn’t even look upset about it. Instead, she turns her head to give him a reassuring wink, and Tim, miraculously, feels like everything is alright. 

Then, Tim meets him.

Even now, at the young, spry age of thirty-two, Bruce Wayne looms over Tim like the hideous monster lurking in the corner of his room when his mom turns the light off for the night. His eyes are too blue, and the span of his shoulders too wide. Tim likes to think of his own father as handsome and dapper, but the aura Bruce Wayne exudes stretches far beyond anything Tim’s father has ever been. 

And Tim can’t help it; he cowers, clutching too tight onto his mother’s dress as he tries to hide away from the man in the black suit who keeps smiling down at him with sharp, shining teeth. 

‘It’ll wrinkle if you keep holding on so tight,’ someone says in the crevices of Tim’s mind, incessant and fervent — all-encompassing. ‘She loves that dress. You know she does. Dad bought it for her as a special present. You’re going to ruin it.’

The voice only speaks the truth. Tim knows that with certainty. Except, he can’t seem to loosen his grip.

His mother simply rests a gentle hand on the top of his head. This time, though, her ease is not as comforting. 

“Mr. Wayne, it’s such a pleasure to see you again,” she says, as if meeting terror incarnate is just one more mundane stepping stone in life. For her, perhaps it is. His mother has always been an amazing one. His father always says so, after all, so how could Tim do anything except believe him? “You’re looking well.”

“As do you, Janet. I dare say you haven’t aged a day since I last saw you all those years ago,” Bruce Wayne says, and even his voice oozes dauntless grace. He’s still smiling even now. Tim hazards a hesitant look up at his mother to find that she, too, smiles, but it’s different from the ones she gives him — different, but distinctively hers. 

“There’s no need to flatter me. I’ll respect you regardless,” his mother says lightly.

Bruce Wayne’s smile doesn’t falter. “What’s flattery when it comes to the truth?”

His mother shrugs, and her earrings gleam under the chandelier lights. “I suppose you have a point.”

“I hope you also believe me when I say that it’s a delight to see you here last night,” Bruce Wayne continues, voice warm like the waning summer sun. “It’s been too long since you last attended one of my events. I was beginning to think that I had unknowingly insulted you last time.”

“Rest assured, I’m not so easy to deter. I simply found myself a bit too busy to spare the time,” Tim’s mother says. 

“Busy with your son, I presume.”

Her fingers twitch almost imperceptibly on Tim’s head, but they feel like ravenous shockwaves to him. They bounce through his skull, one pierce at a time, before settling behind his eyes with a crackle.

“Caring for my son is no burden,” she says slowly, leaving behind plenty of emphasis on each word.

Bruce Wayne shakes his head. “My apologies. I never intended to imply anything of the sort. I know how much time and effort it takes to love a child as thoroughly as you surely do. I have a son of my own, you know.”

“Yes, I’ve heard.”

“They’re wonderful little things aren’t they? Children. Though, I suspect your son is probably more well-behaved than mine.” 

Bruce Wayne leans down, bent at the waist so far just to meet Tim’s gaze he could almost snap in half. Except, somehow, he doesn’t, and that only scares Tim even more.

“Timothy looks like he’d be a delight, even. Though, I have heard that omegas tend to be sweet children,” he continues, and the blues of his eyes nearly blind Tim.

Tim blinks furiously in an attempt to will the scary man in front of him away. It’s futile, however. Bruce Wayne simply chuckles at his attempt before finally , _finally_ drawing away again. 

“He certainly is a cute one, but I’m sure you’re already well aware of that,” Bruce Wayne concludes with his best smile.

Tim’s mother pulls him closer. “I’m sure your Damian is just as endearing. There’s no need to be so modest with me.”

“Regardless, Damian certainly won’t be as _beloved_ as Timothy in the future. Such a lovely little omega doesn’t come along every day, you know.” Bruce Wayne’s smile grows teeth as he speaks. They glitter with immaculate whites, all smooth and straight planes. 

Tim can’t stand the sight of them.

“Rest assured, Damian will be just fine with the Wayne moniker trailing behind him,” Tim’s mother says, expression as pleasant and pretty as ever despite the faint clip in her voice. “Anyway, I’ve taken up enough of your time. You must be eager to greet the rest of your guests.”

“Not to worry. I’m glad I was able to speak to you again after so long. And, of course, I’m delighted to have gotten the chance to meet young Timothy. I do hope you bring him again in the future,” Bruce Wayne replies, voice dripping with velvety, burnt dark chocolate. He leans down again, nearly scraping a terrifyingly broad shoulder against the gown Tim’s hiding behind before extending a monstrous hand. 

Tim stares, unmoving. A few moments pass before his mother nudges him forward. 

Slowly, with shaking hands and suspended breath, Tim steps forward, ever-so-slightly. One step, then two. In the end, it takes five micro-steps to reach Bruce Wayne. 

Bruce Wayne reaches out an encouraging hand before resting it atop Tim’s head, right over the spot where his mom’s palm lay mere seconds ago. Somehow, Bruce Wayne’s skin burns unbearably hot, and the scent wafting from his wrists and beyond is like his parents’ scents but also so, so foreign it’s wrong.

“It was a pleasure to meet you Timothy,” Bruce Wayne says, and his voice rumbles heavy and deep. “I do hope we can meet again someday.”

“I — Me too,” Tim stammers our awkwardly, completely forgetting every ounce of high-society etiquette training his parents keep putting him through. Bruce Wayne looks scantly perturbed, however; he pulls away with that smile of his, like he knows the answer to everything Tim’s ever wondered without even trying. 

“I’m happy to hear that.”

“Unfortunately, it’s now way past Tim’s usual bedtime. I’m afraid we must be going now.” Tim hears the clicks before he sees the line of his mom’s leg, and then he’s being swept up into a loose embrace as she herds him away. Surely, she must have her own dazzling smile on because his mother has never been one for social faux pas, but her fingers dig into his shoulders surprisingly deep.

She clicks away at an impressive pace. It takes Tim concerted effort to keep up with her, but she finally slows after they exit the ornate double-doors into the cool night breeze. 

“Of course your father just so happens to have an overseas business trip to attend to when the infamous Bruce Wayne sends us a very insistent invitation of his latest charity gala, leaving me to deal with it,” she grumbles. “He always leaves the hard work to me.”

“I’m sorry, did I do poorly?” Tim asks quietly.

She turns her head to look down at him so quickly Tim almost fears she’ll snap her neck. “Of course not, Tim. You did great, especially for one of your first events of this scale. I’m just not the biggest fan of the infamous Bruce Wayne.”

“You don’t like him?”

“I don’t dislike him. I just don’t trust him,” she replies cryptically. “You should also be careful of men like him, Tim. They always have their own agenda.”

Tim nods his head, even though he doesn’t entirely understand what she’s trying to say. She’s never been wrong before, though, despite his father’s protests, so Tim just goes along with it because the feeling of her hand against his is just too distracting.

“Now, let’s get out of here. Your father is coming home tomorrow, after all. We should make something delicious to commemorate his return.

This time, Tim nods with much more vigor. He knows he’s not the best cook, but his parents always compliment his efforts nonetheless, and, honestly, few things are much better than that.

* * *

His father doesn’t return the next day. It takes three days for the police to call them in to identify him based on the teeth that survived the crash. Two days after that, Tim’s mother has his hand clasped in a death grip as they proceed down the street, dressed in black and so solemn Tim can hardly remember his own name.

“What an unfortunate accident.”

“Who could ever prepare for such a thing?”

“They should really fire that pilot. He should’ve known better.”

“I can’t even imagine…”

They all speak in the loudest whispers conceivable. Tim doesn’t recognize most of the people crowding around him, but he’s not sure if it's because he doesn’t know them or if all his crying has left him confused.

His mother stumbles on her heel as they walk down the grass-infested path, jerking Tim forward with her. He has never seen her trip before, but the sight of his father’s coffin explains a lot — too much. She tightens her grasp on his hand as she rights herself before continuing. They proceed down the path through a flock of whispering strangers, as if on procession, and Tim hates every moment of it.

But it goes on. 

So does he.

They reach the coffin. It gleams under the harsh sunlight, lustered to perfection. If Tim were so inclined, he could probably see his own reflection with alarming clarity if he were to just lean his head forward a bit. 

He doesn’t. He doesn’t want to look at himself now.

The rest of the funeral passes by surprisingly fast. Several people speak, including old friends of his father’s, but Tim can’t hear a single thing they say. 

All he can think about is how Bruce Wayne, mirrored on the other side of the coffin, looks.

Bruce Wayne’s eyes are still too bright, and the pure black of his suit only makes him look larger. Tim’s surprised to even see him here, and even more surprised when he approaches after the lowering of the coffin. 

“My sincerest condolences, Janet,” Bruce Wayne says. Today, his expression barely resembles the assured ease he bore just days ago, but he still looks just as intimidating in his handsomeness. “Jack was a great man. I know we were never especially close by any stretch of the imagination, but please know that I’m always willing to help should you need it.”

“Thank you.”

Bruce Wayne hums his acknowledgement before turning his attention to Tim. “The same applies to you, Timothy.”

Tim must be too exhausted from all the crying because he doesn’t even duck away from Bruce Wayne’s gaze this time, piercing as it is. “Thank you. I appreciate it, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce Wayne smiles. His teeth gleam white, as always, and they only grow brighter as he reaches down to pat Tim’s head. “Of course. I can relate to what you might be feeling right now.”

Tim motions to nod b because he knows all about the gruesome murder of Bruce Wayne’s parents, but the movement of Bruce Wayne’s hand stops him; big, warm fingers attached to a wide palm smooth down the side of his face before resting against the bottom of Tim’s chin.

“I would never want someone as darling as you to feel upset,” Bruce Wayne whispers, and the moment almost seems to last forever before it blessedly ends. “Unfortunately, I must be on my way now.”

“Certainly. Please don’t feel like you have to compromise any other obligations on our behalf,” Tim’s mother responds smoothly. Then, with a word, she watches him walk away from them, all without loosening her hold on Tim in the slightest.

“Are we gonna see more of him now?” Tim asks quietly.

“No. Of course not. We don’t need him.” His mother begins to steer him away, quickly and sure as the whispers around them continue to proliferate. “You don’t need to see more of him.” 

“Ok.”

* * *

Tim doesn’t speak to Bruce Wayne for thirteen years. Sure, Tim sometimes spots him from across a crowded ballroom, and the man’s presence is inescapable when one resides in Gotham. Nonetheless, Tim has done a surprisingly good job at avoiding actual direct contact with the big-bad man himself, and he must admit to being proud of such a feat.

Except, the end of his streak seems to be fast approaching.

Never before has Tim attended a event like this without his mother. She never wanted him to. Unfortunately, unforeseen issues with the company just so happen to arise the day before, and it’d be too much of an insult for the Drake’s to be completely absent from such a grand and exclusive affair.

And Tim’s an adult. He can’t weasel his way out of this now.

At least the booze tastes good. Unsurprisingly, it’s the fancy stuff: bottles of Dom flow down crystal glass towers with ease for those so-inclined, while others grasp impeccably-aged glasses of bourbon in hand. 

Tim, on the other hand, has opted for stealing sips out of his own flask during bathroom trips in-between sips of water — just in case. It never hurts to be cautious, his mother always tells him. 

Especially when it comes to the powerful and the elite. 

An older gentleman gives Tim a not-at-all subtle once-over. He starts from the bottoms of Tim’s freshly-shined shoes all the way up to the curl of Tim’s hair he couldn’t quite tame in time, gaze lecherous all the while. His leer moves back down, this time stopping at the collar around Tim’s neck.

Their eyes meet.

Tim gives him the prettiest smile he can manage. The man melts before being abruptly dragged away by his perturbed wife, and Tim thinks he can finally breathe again.

“It must be difficult, attracting so much attention.”

So much for breathing.

Tim barely has to turn his head before Bruce Wayne’s hulking figure creeps into his line of sight. Even now, years and inches since their first and last meeting, Bruce Wayne still towers over him like it’s natural. 

It’s unsettling. Tim doesn’t enjoy being unsettled. 

“It could be worse, I suppose,” Tim says with what he desperately hopes wounds like casual confidence, “though I do appreciate your concern, Mr. Wayne.”

“Just because things could be worse is no reason to endure such blatant disrespect,” Bruce Wayne replies, and the way his voice washes over Tim strikes him as unfairly hot. “And, please, call me Bruce.”

“I could never presume to —” 

“I insist.”

Tim swallows his saliva down so hard he nearly chokes. Presumptions from Bruce Wayne mean a lot. “Alright…. Bruce.”

He smiles with all his teeth. “That’s better. Now, besides that unfortunate encounter, how has the rest of your night been so far?”

“Wonderful. You’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

“I’m not sure you have much right to flatter me so, considering you haven’t attended a single event of mine since you were eight.”

Tim doesn’t flinch, but it’s near thing. “My apologies. It’s been a bit hectic, to be honest. You know, with my father’s passing and all.”

Bruce Wayne nods as if he truly understands. “I’m certain. Though, I’m also certain that it would’ve been less of a burden for you if you had accepted any of the assistance I tried to over you since.”

“My mother wouldn’t allow it. You know how she is, set in her ways and her way alone,” Tim responds, and it’s not really a lie.

Bruce Wayne’s smile widens until it reaches the corners of Tim’s eyes. “Oh yes, I’m quite aware. It’s a shame.”

Tim shakes his head until Bruce Wayne’s teeth leave his mind because it hurts too much to leave them there. “It is what it is. I’m simply grateful to be here now, after so long.”

“I’m glad we’re of the same mind for that,” Bruce a Wayne coos, and Tim nearly retches. “And, now that you’re here, I can finally give you the gift that I’ve been holding onto for so long.”

But Tim can’t help it. He instinctively takes a step back before he has the chance to realize his own body moving, right into the path of an unsuspecting server. Time slows as the poor man stumbles over himself in an attempt to mitigate the inevitable impact, and Tim feels his body tense into something tight and terrible. 

“My mother never would’ve made this mistake,” is Tim’s final thought before his body lurches forward straight into Bruce a Wayne’s.

“Careful now. I recently had the floor waxed for the occasion, but I’m thinking I should have given it a few more days to settle instead,” Bruce says, and his chest rumbles so hard Tim’s head shakes. 

“No, it was my fault. Thank you for helping me.”

Tim makes a motion to pull away. 

Bruce keeps him close — unwavering and unwilling.

“Before you inevitably leave me, allow me this moment to give you your gift.” He fishes through his pocket, all while keeping Tim in place with a single hand, and why the hell is he so strong? “Here. I saw this and immediately thought of you.”

The felt box he hands Tim hides nothing, and, truthfully, Tim wants nothing more than to throw is straight into the ridiculous champagne tower nestled in the middle of the room before sprinting out of the side door like a man cursed. 

Except, he can’t. His mother would be disappointed. 

So, he swallows his breathe to pry the box open. Inside lays a stunning ring, encrusted in what must be the finest gold and adorned with the clearest dollop of sapphire Tim has ever seen. 

The sight makes him weak.

“It matches your eyes perfectly, doesn’t it?” Bruce Wayne hums. Tim can see his satisfied smirk reflected in the gleam of the golden band, and it would be handsome if not so terrifying. “Here, let me put it on you.” 

Tim doesn’t say no, but he also doesn’t say yes. In fact, he says nothing. Instead, he stands there, silent as the room buzzed around them with poorly-contained excitement and wicked curiosity as Bruce Wayne gently pries the ring box from Tim’s hands before pulling the ring out. In between his long fingers, the ring looks absolutely minuscule. Except, as it slowly glides across Tim’s index fingers, it weighs down heavy.

“Looks like it’s a perfect fit. I’m glad I was able to estimate the size well,” Bruce Wayne says, and he linger, finger pads flush against Tim’s palm.

‘Estimate my ass,’ Tim thinks, but he doesn’t let it show. He just smiles bright in the hopes he might blind himself. “Yes, me too. It’s beautiful. Thank you.”

Bruce Wayne nods before releasing Tim, and it’s finally over; Tim can finally walk away to soothe his trembling fingers with overpriced champagne before stumbling away from Wayne Manor into the hesitant grip of his driver. 

“You alright?” his driver, Conner asks. The poor guy definitely doesn’t get paid enough for such a thankless job, yet he stays nonetheless. The two of them might be something like friends, at this point.

“Yes… Well, perhaps. At the very least, I’m alive and still unmated, so tonight could be worse,” Tim slurs. 

Seemingly satisfied, his driver starts the car up, and the blazing lights of Wayne Manor fade away behind them. 

And, somewhere in the trees between it and the main road, lays a fucking ring.

“Would you like me to turn around and try to find your ring for you?” Conner asks, as if he didn’t just witness Tim launching that ring out of the window mere moments ago. He’s always been thorough, though; it’s why Tim likes him so much. 

“No. It’s alright. It was gaudy anyway.”


	2. Chapter 2

Tim’s mother gives him a pointed look when he returns home that night clearly drunk and a touch upset to boot, but she doesn’t ask, and Tim doesn’t explain. In the end, she simply wishes him a good night with a kiss on the cheek before he trudges up the stairs, and, really, he supposes that’s all he can really ask for. 

Though, an invitation to Bruce Wayne’s next charity gala mere weeks later ruins the illusion of peace a bit.

“Timothy, you don’t — You don’t have to go,” his mother says as she stares down the embroidered letter, white-knuckled. Sincerity soaks her words, warm and welcome like his father’s signature hot cocoa, but it’s a lie, and they both know it.

So, he shakes his head and smiles. “We both know I do. You’ve worked so hard these past few years to uphold our family’s prestige. It’d be a waste for me to ruin it just because I find Bruce Wayne a bit creepy. Besides, you can’t man the business forever. One day, I’ll have to step up and take over for you, and it’ll be good to have someone like him on my side.”

“He’s an alpha.”

“Of course he is" _They all are._ "It’s fine. After all, what could he possibly do besides dump a handful of overbearing overtures my ways? It’s not like he can mark me in the middle of a room full of potential investors.”

His mother frowns, thin and pinched, and a wrinkle surfaces beside her left eye. Tim should remind her to schedule another appointment with the dermatologist soon. “Regardless, you can’t let your guard down around him. Around any of them.”

“Come on, I haven’t made it this far without knowing something as basic as that.”

Her expression barely shifts, but an edge of resignation creeps through the corners, and she drops the matter. For now.

And, three weeks later, as Tim begrudgingly primps himself for the latest Wayne whatever party, she says nothing. She simply stands at his doorway, watchful as Tim passes by with heavy steps.

“Have fun,” she says as he rounds the corner, one part sarcastic, three parts indulgently sincere. 

“I’ll try,” Tim responds, and, well, he can’t even tell what he sounds like. 

* * *

Tonight is a bit more of an intimate affair. Fewer guests, less space, but possibly even more alcohol than before. A few of the older men are already huddled together in various corners of the room, downing bourbon like the sun won’t rise, adorned with beautiful young things on their arms. The beautiful young things, Tim notes, barely touch their own drinks as they laugh and bat their eyelashes in an attempt to blink away the disgust lacing the corners of their eyes. 

Bruce Wayne’s caught in the middle of his own gaggle, right in the center of the room. Young men and women — _stunning_ young men and women flank him from every angle, each inching forwards with each passing second in hopes that they might catch the illustrious Bruce Wayne’s fancy for more than a few passing moments. 

So far, none of them have been successful individually, but, together, they manage to capture Bruce Wayne’s attention surprisingly well.

Of course, Tim takes the opportunity to slip away into the sparse crowd as best as he can to take advantage of the ever-flowing booze because high heaven and hell knows he needs it. 

He reaches for the fullest glass he can reach. It’s cool under his grip, perfectly chilled and bubbling with unbridled promise, but the hand suddenly covering feels terribly warm.

“Just got here and you’re already going for the drinks?”

Tim turns his head slowly. In front of him stands Jason Todd, the vaguely elusive and oft forgotten Wayne ward. Tim knows about him — knows his height, weight, favorite drinks, and other miscellaneous facts from various different avenues, but he still manages to tower over Tim more than anticipated.

“Jason Todd,” Tim says. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“Why’s that?”

“I was under the impression that you didn’t exactly enjoy these kinds of events.”

Jason shrugs before smirking down at Tim, all glittering teeth — just like Bruce Wayne. “Well, I heard from a little birdie that a special guest would be coming along tonight, so of course I couldn’t miss that.”

Tim’s fingers twitch beneath Jason’s palm, but the heat of Jason’s hand doesn’t let up in the slightest. In fact, Tim swears it grows. 

“Anyway, now that we’re both here, how about we share a drink together?” Jason hums. “Mind telling me your name before we make a toast?”

“I would’ve never pegged you as the type to believe in making toasts. Besides, I’m pretty sure you already know my name.”

Jason curls his fingers down until they brush against Tim’s palm. “I wanna hear you say it.”

Tim swallows, and it hurts. Suddenly, his entire mouth and throat have gone dry in the span of seconds, and he struggles to conjure up some saliva lest he end up dry heaving all over the drinks table; a spectacle like that would just be way too embarrassing and eye-catching, after all, and that’s just about the last thing he needs right now. 

“Tim. Timothy Drake,” he finally stutters once he can breathe again without coarse stinging riding down his throat, but, for some reason, it doesn’t really make it any better. 

At least Jason’s pleased, judging by the shit-eating grin on his face. “It’s a nice name.”

“It’s a common enough one, I think.”

“I’m not gonna argue with you on this when we’ve finally had the great fortune to meet, so I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree. Besides, I’d hate to scare you off before I’ve even offered you a single drink.”

“You act like you’re the one paying for all these drinks,” Tim scoffs before jerking his hand away. Thankfully, Jason lets him without much fuss, but the overt step towards Tim he takes leaves a lot to be desired. 

“It’s all family money, in the end, so one could argue that I am, in a sense. Either way, I can still share a drink with you.”

Jason leans over to grab a — who would’ve guessed — a glass of cognac from the back of the table, brushing a broad shoulder against Tim’s along the way. 

And it’s all egregiously overt. 

Jason Todd, apparently, has not mastered the art of subtlety. That, or he simply doesn’t care. 

“Here, a toast,” Jason says once he has his drink in hand, “to a good night.”

“That’s a lot to ask for from something like this,” Tim says, even as he raises his own glass in time with Jason’s. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll make it fun for you.”

Finally, their glasses touch, and the reverb running down Tim’s arm seems to last forever. 

* * *

Fun turns out to be debatable, but not entirely false. 

Because Jason’s not like Bruce Wayne, even though he is. He’s overbearing like Bruce Wayne, but not in the same anxiety -inducing and suffocating way. Of course, Tim can’t claim to feel relaxed around Jason, but at least he’s less smothering and just more… aggressive.

The whole time, Jason refuses to let up. He doesn’t give secretive smiles or sly gifts like Bruce Wayne. Instead, he crowds into Tim’s space, moving closer and closer with each beat. No one else can even get near them at this rate. 

They try, though. Tim wasn’t exaggerating when he mentioned how rare it is for Jason Todd to make an appearance at these things. While he may not exactly be the most prolific when it comes to the affairs and dealing of Wayne Enterprises, he’s still Bruce Wayne’s ward, and a title like that holds plenty of weight in Gotham. 

As such, it comes as no surprise to see several people making various attempts at catching Jason’s attention. Some of them put on an air of self-assured casualty, absent-mindedly waltzing into Jason’s peripheral vision before storming away in a huff when their half-baked plan ultimately fails. Others take a more public approach, as they all but force themselves into the small space of Jason’s direct line of sight not otherwise occupied by Tim, but they, too, have few results to show for it.

Because, for some reason, Jason will just not leave Tim alone. 

“Well, it’s been great fun getting to know you, but I think I should probably go ahead and mingle with some of the other guests. It wouldn’t do to ruffle any important feathers by acting as if I favor you over everyone else,” Tim says after finishing his second glass of wine. Somehow, being with Jason urges Tim into drinking more than he knows is wise. Maybe it’s because the Sauvignon Blanc today is Tim’s favorite. 

Or perhaps it has something to do with the fact that Jason himself is already on his fourth glass of bourbon, and Tim has always had a strange and irrational distaste for being out-drunken by handsome men with handsome smiles. 

“Please, you can’t expect me to really believe that you’d prefer talking to any of these other schmucks over me.”

“It has nothing to do with preference. I’m just trying to avoid stepping on anyone’s toes.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Jason leans in close until the sheen of his eyes flint dangerously under the massive chandelier towering over them. He, just like all of the Wayne boys, has blue eyes. Jason’s, however, hold flecks of green that mesmerize and terrify in equal parts, all framed by the shock of white bangs encroaching between them. “We both know Drake Industries is too powerful for small fry like these to even touch with a little gossip or bitching. The only people here who could really do anything to you are me and dear daddy Bruce.”

Tim resists the urge to down his newest drink with a single flick of his wrist despite the painful crawl of desperation singeing the base of his throat. “I — I wasn’t aware you even paid attention to such things.”

“I may be no Dick or Damian, but I do keep watch over the company and potential competitors in my own way.”

“Is that so?"

“Of course. For example, I’ve noticed that you’re a pretty big fan of Horace’s signature cookie dough bites. So much so that you visit every Tuesday to pay a dozen of them. Some weeks, you even get two dozen.”

Tim reels backwards; or, he tries to, at least. Jason grabs ahold of him before he can go far, but that doesn’t stop red wine from sloshing all over the hem of Jason’s fine dress pants. Thankfully, the dark black fabric hides the stain quite well.

Unfortunately, that also means Tim’s now down a few much needed mouthfuls. 

“I wasn’t aware you had such a bad habit of spying on people,” Tim hisses through gritted teeth. He jerks his arm in an attempt to free himself from Jason’s grip, but Jason doesn’t budge in the slightest. 

Damn all the Wayne boys for not only  being ridiculously built but also having the strength to show for it.

“It’s not my fault you never noticed me. Besides, you’re just so fucking cute when you’re eating something you enjoy. It’s hard to not watch you.”

“What do you want from me?” Tim asks, too blunt and incensed for such a fine occasion but probably entitled to it, all things considered.

Jason smiles wider, like his favorite game has finally begun in earnest, and he’s raring to keep playing. “No need to be so feisty, though your angry face is almost as cute as your eating one. I just wanna spend the night with you. Get to know you better.” He leans forward even farther, somehow. “Get you in bed and show you what I can really do.”

Tim rolls his eyes he swears he catches a glimpse of the back of his own head. “You know I’m not looking for a mate right now.”

“Of course I know. Everyone in the damn country and any major city in the world knows that,” Jason scoffs. The derision in his voice is real, but he tamps it down before Tim can really make a note of it. Ultimately, Tim’s not sure whether he honestly appreciates that or not. “I’m not trying to mate you or anything. Just offering a good time. Not like I could bite you, even if I wanted to.” He eyes Tim’s collar pointedly, and Tim resists the instinctive urge to hide the rest of his neck with his clammy palm.

“You seem pretty confident in your ability to entice me, even though I’m sure you also know that I don’t tend to make a habit out of accepting those kinds of invitations,” Tim says instead, fingers twitching futilely around his glass all the while. 

“And you’re not?”

Tim bites down on the inside of his mouth to keep quiet — _hard_. Anyone could see that Jason’s Todd a wickedly handsome specimen of a man, and it’s not like Tim’s never has casual sex while tipsy. But, he’s Jason Todd, one of Bruce Wayne’s wards, and that’s its own kind of problem because Tim can’t trust any of that.

After all, his mother doesn’t, and she’s never been wrong before. 

“It’ll keep Bruce off your ass tonight,” Jason adds offhandedly. 

Except, Tim takes an embarrassing amount of consideration into the proposition. First of all, Tim wouldn’t mind sleeping with someone like Jason under different circumstances and if he weren’t Jason fucking Todd. Secondly, Bruce Wayne has been giving the two of them a great deal of attention for the past few minutes, but he makes no attempts to actually approach them. Whether or not it’s because he’s offended that Tim’s attentions are elsewhere or if he wants to be a good father figure who doesn’t impede on his ward’s sexual exploits is beyond Tim’s guess. 

And, honestly, they seem like two pretty damn good reasons right now.

“Sure,” Tim says, shrugging with every ounce of carefully curated nonchalance he can muster up. Through heavy-hooded eyes of manufactured seduction and carefully groomed lashes, he glances up at Jason, just to see — to know. He hopes to catch a glimpse of shock in Jason’s face at Tim actually accepting his proposition — disbelief tempered with awe — or even just pure desire. Any of those would give Tim some power here.

Jason gives him none of those. Instead, he just smirks at Tim with enough self-assurance to kill a man.

“What are we hanging around here for then?” Jason asks, leaning in so painfully close that the heat of his breath just about sends the back of Tim’s neck into a trembling fit. “When we could be having way more fun somewhere else?”

“What happened to watching over the company in your own way? Isn’t that why you’re here?”

Jason’s teeth gleam as his smile widens. “When did I ever say that?”

Tim doesn’t respond, only opting to tighten his grip around the stem of his glass. Jason, however, remains undeterred as he reaches over to push the rim the glass up against Tim’s mouth. 

It’s cool against Tim’s lips, smooth, heavy, and undoubtedly handcrafted from the finest crystal. If he dropped it, let it shatter and spill across the floor in long arcs of plum currant red, Bruce Wayne probably wouldn’t even bat an eye at the mess or the expense. He might even welcome the opportunity to come and “check up” on Tim in the aftermath. 

But others wouldn’t be so forgiving at the messy scene. Any misstep was always liable for scrutiny, and scrutiny led to rumors, to ruin. 

God, how fucking annoying. 

Slowly, Tim parts his lips. The wine drips over his tongue in smooth rivulets before pooling in his throat, moving faster and faster and Jason tilts the glass even higher. Soon enough, Tim’s struggling to swallow it down fast enough, and then it’s gone, and the warmth in his stomach feels both foreboding and comforting. 

“Now, shall we?” Jason asks, and his tone leaves little room for flimsy excuses.

This time, Tim nods.

* * *

Honestly, Jason’s a damn good kisser. 

Of course, one would probably guess that a dashing, handsome young man like Jason would have honed his make out skills from plenty of experience, but still, Tim’s impressed and somewhat at ease as they press against each other in one of the many vacant rooms of Wayne Manor. 

Jason’s warmer than most other people Tim’s made out with before, Tim thinks as Jason’s tongue swirls over this bottom lip. Or maybe it’s just the alcohol talking. Either way, he’s so distracted by the heat he can’t stop Jason’s roving hands from hauling Tim up by his ass.

“Wait — wait a second,” Tim gusts as he pulls away. Jason allows him just enough room to break this kiss, but his grip remains strong. “When did I agree to let you do whatever you wanted?”

Jason tilts his head, and the whites of his bangs fan across his face like dandelion seeds in the breeze. “Does it matter? You seem to be enjoying it.”

Tim huffs out a sigh. “I don’t appreciate being manhandled.”

“No? What do you want to do, then?”

Jason asks the question like he already knows the answer and more, two-thirds smug and one-third sensual decadence, drizzled with the unfairly smooth slide of Jason’s tongue over Tim’s collarbone. 

Tim doesn’t deign to give a response. He instead opts to jerk himself out of Jason’s grip to gain enough leverage to push Jason down onto a nearby chair so he can crawl over Jason’s lap with all the finesse of a man starved.

“I was thinking something more like this,” Tim breathes.

Somehow, Jason grows even more smug at the sight as he slides his hands back against the small of Tim’s back. “I can’t imagine anyone turning _this_ down.”

“Well, it’s true that no one ever has.”

“See?”

“I don’t know why you’re acting as if this is new information to me.”

Jason scoffs, but he makes no attempt to even feign annoyance. “Yeah, yeah, just get on with it, yeah? Or are you actually all bark and no bite? I’m gonna be pretty disappointed, if that’s the case.”

Tim responds by dipping his head down to lick a long, slow line from the base of Jason’s neck to the edge of his jaw. The taste of salt prickles against Tim’s tongue harshly, even more prominent than the vague remnants of stubble dusting the warm — no, _hot,_ burning wild and emanating eons that shouldn’t exist in the small gap between them — expanse of Jason’s skin. Every so often, the muscle sinews of Jason’s neck flex and tense beneath Tim’s ministrations, as if startled by the attention Tim’s lavishing on them.

Of course, the rest of Jason doesn’t seem hesitant at all.

With a harsh lilt of his hips, Jason jostles Tim so much Tim, for a lack of a better word, tumbles into Jason’s impatient arms. Then, after creating such an opportune moment for himself, Jason strips Tim of his jacket and shirt so quickly Tim can hardly believe it.

“Impatient?” Tim hums.

“For you? Always.”

Tim bites back the complaint that reflexively rises up his throat. Even someone as admittedly uptight as himself needs to let loose and have a nice orgasm whilst in the embrace of another person every once in awhile.

At least, that’s what Conner keeps telling him when he complains of Tim’s ‘pissy fits’. 

Suddenly, the dull scrape of teeth rolls over the side of Tim’s neck, and he nearly flips a table pushing Jason away.

“What are you doing?” Tim demands, and the moment is over, and Conner would be so disappointed if he could somehow see Tim now, but Tim doesn’t care because his neck _burns_ under his collar.

“It’s called foreplay,” Jason replies smoothly, gaze unreadable and grip loose yet so heavy. “It’s fine, isn’t it? It’s not like I could mark you like this with _that_ on.”

He says ‘that’ like they all do — with hunger and resentment. It takes every ounce of forced, heavy-handed will for Tim to stop himself from instinctively throwing his hand over his neck because he hates looking like an omega even though he’s just a fucking omega.

And Tim’s not even surprised, hasn’t been surprised in so long because people are just so predictable, alpha’s especially so. Strangely enough, however, a bloom of dissatisfaction furls up in his guy, even as his erection fades. 

It’s not enough to stop him from crawling out of Jason’s lap, though.

He manages to take two steps before stumbling, caught on the disgustingly ornate rug wasted on a woefully underused room. Jason rises a few inches, as if he might try to stop Tim’s fall, but Tim rights himself before he can get very far.

“You really gonna leave just because of that?” Jason asks, and Tim hates how calm he sounds. 

“I should’ve left hours ago,” Tim mumbles. “Conner, my chauffeur, has been waiting for me.”

“Next time, convince him to let you stay up past your bedtime every once in a while, yeah?” 

Tim turns his head to the side until he can barely catch a glimpse of Jason’s unfairly attractive, unbothered face from the corner of his eye. “For you? Never.”

And Jason’s laugh, full and deep like a terrifying abyss you can’t stop peering into, resonates painfully loud in Tim’s head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow it's been awhile huh


	3. Chapter 3

A few weeks pass, and Tim almost manages to clear his mind of everything related to Bruce Wayne and his incorrigible, woefully handsome ward . Almost being the imperative word but, honestly, almost is better than nothing. At the very least, Jason Todd doesn’t try to contact him afterward, so Tim gets to sink into the predictability of his life sans the Wayne’s.

For example, his mess of work only continues to grow despite his best efforts, Conner never fails to support Tim with words of wisdom that Tim’s ego loathes to hear, and Horace’s signature cookie dough bites taste as sinfully delicious as ever. All is well because all is normal, and Tim must admit that he really loves the normal.

Except, on one fine Tuesday, with the sun shining hot and breeze combing through his hair like an oft-forgotten father’s touch, Tim just so happens to run into Dick Grayson in front of Horace’s bakery, and that’s… unfortunate, to put it lightly. 

Out of all the Wayne’s, Dick has been the center of many articles gushing over his highs, the lightest and brightest blue of them all. Right now, though, they stare down at Tim with a darkness that would likely paralyze a weaker man.

‘I hope you’re ready,’ they seem to say, smug and beautiful.

Tim is, in fact, not ready. Dealing with the likes of them is a simple, easily calculable affair in the context of gala’s, banquet’s, and other high-profile, heavily-populated events like those. Tim’s comfortable with those. He’s safe with those. 

He is not, however, accustomed to running into Bruce Wayne’s boys when he’s on a casual mission to stuff his face with sweets after being forced to sit through one of the most infuriating meetings in the past few months. Of course, it’s not as if Tim looks bad. Even the most mundane day requires a degree of haughty professionalism when it comes to half-running a company. 

But it’s not the same.

His weekday business suit is not the same as his nearly-skintight dress suits. His business suit does not have the same grandeur woven in and between the seams — that demand for respect dyed by an unapproachable air. His dress shoes don’t click as loudly to announce his every move, and he hasn’t applied the perfect dusting of makeup to both enhance and sharpen his almost too-soft features. 

The lapels frame his chest with less authority, and the cuffs hang too low to show-off the obnoxiously expensive jewels adorning his wrist. Though, it’s not like Tim’s even wearing any jewels to begin with. Not now because, while a decorated omega might be adored in high society, the general populace has little love for them. 

Most of all, Dick Grayson looks better than him as they stand on this cracked street corner, and, if there’s one thing Tim’s mother has taught him, it’s to always look better than someone else.

Like this, common and austere, his armor’s weak, cracked in all the places he needs them the most.

And he hates to lose. 

Tim takes a step forward. After all, what is life if not a string of annoyances? Dick smiles, and there might even be a hint of dimpled delight creased onto his near-immaculate face. 

“Mr. Grayson, what a pleasant surprise to run into you like this,” Tim says, and he hopes the crinkle of his paper pastry bag hides the tremble in his voice. 

Dick responds with equal calm. “Please, call me Dick. I’ve never been a fan of ‘Mr. Grayson.’”

‘Gladly,’ Tim thinks to himself because, truly, Grayson’s nothing less than a huge dick for showing up before Tim when he’s trying to have a nice day, full of indulgent snacks and devoid of thoughts pertaining to the Wayne’s. “Well then, _Dick_, what brings you here? We’re practically on the opposite side of Gotham from Wayne Enterprises, you know.”

Dick shrugs before leaning forward. It’s almost imperceptible — probably would be, if he weren’t shedding an ocean of pheromones around him. Even casual passerby’s turn to stare, noses tilted upwards as they watch the scene unfold through the corner of their eyes. 

Out of all the Wayne’s, Dick has always edged the side of unscrupulous when it came to his status as an alpha. Even though everyone and their dearly departed grandmother knew they were all alpha’s, even Bruce Wayne made some attempt to dampen his pheromones. Not everyone viewed blatant displays of status very favorably, and sometimes even men like Bruce Wayne had to bend a bit to maintain their grip over an entire city.

Dick Grayson, on the other hand, apparently doesn’t believe in subtlety. He lets his pheromones run wild as he pleases, oozing them out in slim rivulets some days while pouring them out in heavy streams the next. Furthermore, the way he walks, heavy and assured, can only belong to a high-ranking alpha; such weight behind smooth strides do not exist for others. 

(Tim knows because he has tried. He has practiced hours in front of the mirror to match their gait, but, no matter what, he will never be like them. 

He will always be an omega.)

Today, Dick’s decided to dole out the pheromones in tidal waves. They wash over Tim sweet as a love’s caress, or perhaps more like a fierce snap of the hips with how intense they come. Dick’s presence sweeps over him in pulses, and each one leaves Tim feeling simultaneously swaddled and shorn. 

“My schedule’s not too hectic today, so I thought I’d look around the city a bit. It’s always nice to know what’s going on around Gotham, you know, especially when Wayne Enterprises is so deeply involved in a number of her businesses,” Dick says easily. His smile widens, and Tim swears he hears a wanton hitch of someone’s breath nearby. 

Because Dick Grayson is also undoubtedly the most popular bachelor of the Wayne fortune. 

Tim can’t say he doesn’t get it. Dick’s unarguably attractive, tall and fitted with an impressive bulk from his former days as a competitive acrobat, topped off with a deceptively kind smile and killer ass. In fact, there are more than a few sites and small-scale magazines dedicated to that ass alone. That, too, Tim gets. He’s not blind.

Nonetheless, he would much prefer if Dick weren’t standing in front of him right now, gleaming with expectant self-satisfaction. No ass is worth the cruel abundance of troubles the Wayne’s drag with them — not even the best of the best, as the local newspaper highlighted last Christmas.

Regardless, Tim must play nice. “How admirable of you. I’m sure many people in your esteemed position wouldn’t bother with such trivial things.”

“There’s nothing trivial about it. Besides, I was lucky enough to run into you, and a happy coincidence like this is more than enough to make this detour all worth it. I’ve been interested in speaking with you ever since you started taking over more of Drake Industries’ projects, you know.”

Tim bows his head in a show of thanks to hide the roll of his eyes. Happy coincidence, his not-as-perfect ass. “I’m flattered to hear you say that.”

“Then let’s make the most of this opportunity, yeah? Have you had dinner yet?”

Tim glances at the bag of baked goods in his hand. “Of course. I’m not one to eat sweets before a proper meal,” he lies. 

Dick raises a perfectly-groomed eyebrow in time with the devious upturn of his mouth, and Tim swears he sees a hint of gloss swept across plump, knowing lips. “Is that so? I could’ve sworn I’ve heard a few colleagues of mine mention how they’ve seen you spoil your appetite by indulging in a few too many sweets. Don’t worry, though. They find it very endearing.”

_Colleagues_, Dick says, as if they don’t both know they’re referring to Jason Todd, that asshole. Who knew he was so chatty?

Tim bites the inside of his cheek in frustration, lightly at first so Dick can’t see it, then harder, deeper, sharper until the sting of his teeth sinking into flesh turns into something almost soothing. Carefully, he licks the metallic glaze off his teeth before responding. “I wanted to try to save face, but I guess nothing gets past you and your _colleagues_.”

Dick’s smile widens until his lips are nothing but pinpricks at the edges. “Never.”

God, Tim hates this.

And Dick doesn’t care about that. “What are you in the mood for, then?”

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. In fact, the urge to puke wells up in the back of Tim’s throat something fierce, higher and higher until all he can do is frantically gulp down the saliva flooding his mouth lest he throw up all over his cookie dough bites. 

Slowly, Dick approaches him. He looks vaguely concerned, and it very well may be real because, according to all the books and health lectures in middle school, it pains an alpha to see an omega in distress. Of course, Dick’s the one causing Tim’s distress, but that doesn’t stop him from brushing the back of his knuckles against Tim’s forehead.

“Are you feeling unwell?” Dick asks, and Tim loathes how sincere he sounds. 

“I... Yes, a bit,” Tim eventually responds. He figures being honest now might actually do him some good, if Dick insists on playing the doting alpha. Perhaps he’ll take pity on Tim and let him scurry away this time. 

“Shall I take you to the hospital?”

Tim scoffs. Thankfully, the saliva’s gone down, so he doesn’t accidentally spit all over Dick in the process, as satisfying as that would be. “It’s really not that serious.”

“Still, I can’t just leave you in this condition. Why don’t you rest up in my apartment for a bit, until you’re well again?”

Tim’s breath stops, and his head spins. So much for being honest.

“I appreciate the offer,” Tim says slowly, willing himself to calm down, “but, really, I’m fine. I’d hate to be a burden on your day off.”

Like a dog begging for a treat, Dick tilts his head to the side, eyes so blue and way too damn bright as his gaze bares into Tim. “You could never be a burden.”

Maybe not, but Dick Grayson is surely being a huge burden to him.

“I promise, it’s not that bad. It’s nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix,” Tim insists, and nothing he does can stop the desperation seeping into his voice. If she were here, his mother would be disappointed at his poor play.

Or maybe just pitying. 

“Even if you say that, I’m not sure I’d be comfortable meeting with you about that new collaboration if I let you go without seeing for myself that you’re well,” Dick murmurs.

Tim blinks once, then twice before he finds his voice again. “What are you talking about?”

The twinkle in Dick’s eyes is nothing short of terrifying. “Oh, didn’t you know? I’m going to be heading the meeting between Wayne Enterprises and Drake Industries on Friday.”

The saliva returns with a vengeance, acrid and viscous. “I was told Salvio was going to act as Wayne Enterprise’s representative.”

“Well, when I heard that you were going to be representing Drake Industries, I couldn’t help but ask to take Salvio’s place.” Against all logic, Dick’s saccharine smile grows until his stupidly handsome face all but melts with glee. “I’ve always wanted to work on a project with you, after all.”

For a brief moment, Tim considers simply hauling ass out of there. He figures not even Dick Grayson would chase him down in such a public place. Such a display would be most unbecoming of him, and, even as popular as Dick is, even a beloved alpha can only get away with so much before the public turns on them. Surely Bruce Wayne would never raise his wards to be such menaces — in public, at least. 

Yet, that doesn’t change the blatant threat Dick’s dangling over his head. Drake Industries hasn’t had the opportunity to pursue a lucrative deal like this for years. To sign a contract with Wayne Industries to cooperate on several future city infrastructure projects is nothing to scoff at, and Tim cannot get the image of his mother’s hopeful expression out of his mind, even with Dick Grayson staring pinpricks into the sliver of his neck that his collar fails to hide. 

Honestly, Tim has no idea why they’re all apparently obsessed with him. Out of all the eligible omega’s in Gotham, Tim’s really only above average at best. Sure, he has a relatively prominent family name, and the doctors have consistently deemed him to be “satisfactorily receptive to childbearing” — whatever that means — but, compared to the dozens of other well-known omega’s located within mere hours of where they’re currently standing, he’s just another face in the crowd. 

As such, Dick’s continuous insistence and Bruce Wayne’s blue-steel eyes and lingering touch from months and years ago continues to baffle Tim.

But, maybe he can use it to his advantage. After all, what good was an omega who didn’t know how to get what they wanted from a few alpha’s?

So, Tim paints on his best look of coy gratitude before tilting his body ever-so-slightly towards Dick, allowing extra emphasis to fall on the stretch of his neck. His collar announces itself with a sharp glint under the high sun, so intense sun spots bloom at the corner of Tim’s eyes, but that’s fine. It only serves to draw Dick’s attention there even further, which is all Tim can ask for.

“If you really insist, how could I refuse?” Tim whispers, “even if I still hate to do this to you.”

“You’re not doing anything except helping me feel reassured,” Dick replies. His excitement bleeds out of him, according to the faint breathlessness in his voice and the deluge of pheromones sloughing off of him. Even more heads turn to look at them, but Dick doesn’t seem to mind the inevitable gossip at all.

In fact, he looks as pleased as a wolf pup who’s finally battered his siblings enough to get the largest, most succulent cut of meat straight from their mother’s maw. 

Well, two can play at that game.

As an omega, Tim can’t exactly flaunt his pheromones like Dick, lest he risk getting himself arrested and/or branded a wicked harlot hell-bent on seducing powerful alpha’s for his own gain — even if that last bit might hold a touch of truth — but he can still flutter his lashes and pout his lips while acting weak in the knees with a mysterious ailment. Slightly above average he may be in terms of omega eligibility, but at least he’s pretty. 

Dick falls for it so bad Tim would laugh if it weren’t so embarrassing. 

“I can have my driver here in minutes,” Dick says. He reaches a hand out, and it takes everything in Tim to stop himself from recoiling. He’s warm, touch gentle and vaguely calloused from his acrobatics days. Barely there, even — his fingertips brush against Tim’s arm by a hair’s width, but it feels like he’s everywhere.

So close.

Tim takes in a deep breath through his nose before flashing Dick a soft smile. “Thank you.”

* * *

They step out of the elevator, and Tim wonders where Dick gets the audacity to act as if his multi-story penthouse is just one of the many ‘apartments’ littering the Gotham city skyline. 

Upon first glance, the place actually looks modest enough. Neutral furnishings offer only a little more than the typical basics, and the appliances in the kitchen, while sleek modern, aren’t laden with features that only those with more money than they know what to do with would pay for. Even the rugs are plain and unassuming. 

Of course, the framed piece of nigh-priceless art hanging over a marble fireplace easily breaks the illusion, but Tim can still appreciate the attempt to not be overwhelmingly bourgeois.

“Why don’t you sit on the couch? Or, if you’d like, you can lay down in bed. I have a few you can choose from,” Dick says as he scurries over to the kitchen. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

“I’m fine.”

Dick whips his head around, affronted and shaken. “But you haven’t had dinner yet. I know. We talked about it.”

Tim swallows down his sigh. While a large majority of the popular, overwhelmingly toxic romance novels on the market loved to highlight the more protective and devoted parts of a stereotypical alpha, most of the ones Tim’s met have erred more towards the prideful and demanding sides. Of course, everyone working in large-scale businesses was like that, but the alpha’s really knew how to show everyone up in even the most unflattering aspects.

On the other hand, Dick’s apparent horror at not being able to pamper Tim with food and drink might be even more nauseating than all that.

“I’m fine with whatever’s the least hassle for you,” Tim says.

Dick shakes his head until his inky black hair trembles. “Nothing’s a hassle for me. Whatever you want, I can have it here in no time. Don’t worry about a thing.”

Dear lord, being doted on is even more exhausting than Tim could’ve imagined.

“Thai food then. Beef pad see ew sounds good right about now.”

Dick doesn’t even respond. Instead, he begins tapping away furiously at his phone. The silence stretches on for far longer than a single order of pad see ew would warrant, and Tim’s just thankful that Conner also enjoys Thai, considering the inevitable leftovers he’ll be hauling around in a few hours.

“What would you like to drink? I have a wide selection of liquor or wine, if you’re interested,” Dick says when he finally finishes placing an order for what Tim can only assume is the entire menu. 

“Water’s fine,” Tim replies before letting his voice dip, like a greedy finger into a comb of fresh honey. “I’d hate to ruin this rare moment with you by being drunk.”

Not to mention, Tim’s not the best and brightest when under the influence, if his run-in with Jason Todd was any indication. What a shame it’d be to make the same mistake twice.

Tim does not do shame.

“Water it is.”

The cup Dick hands him weighs heavy in Tim’s hand. Thick glass — maybe even genuine crystal based on the thickness of the rim — chills his palm as the sound of clinking ice envelopes the space between them. Dick sits beside him, close enough to feel his heat, yet far enough that Tim is, thankfully, not subject to wading in a tsunami of Dick’s pheromones. After all, sitting within a closed penthouse filled to the brim with an alpha’s pheromones is sickening enough; dealing with even more of it coming off Dick is worse. 

The ice clinks again, sharp and sonorous against the glass. The sound catches Tim’s attention, and he manages to look down quickly enough to see a cracked chunk of ice sink to the bottom of his drink. 

Then, Dick speaks. “Now, would you like to play this game for a bit longer until the food arrives, or do you want to tell me why you agreed to come home with me?”

Another ice shard breaks off. It’s jagged, and Tim’s breath shudders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> goodness, when will i stop just thinking about stories and actually write them instead
> 
> anyway, pls let me know what you think, party ppl :D


	4. Chapter 4

Silence festers over them, bubbling, frothy, and viscous. Dick makes no attempts to break it, and the moment goes on and on until they both all but drown in it. 

Tim hates to break. He hates being the one to give in first because, sometimes, all he owns is stubbornness topped with a heaping dollop of ill-gotten arrogance. Regardless, big bad, insultingly wealthy alpha’s usually balk when he gets like this — cheeky, yet still cute as a button, as one drunken businessman once told him. As such, alphas oft fold like a cheap house of cards for Tim when he insists on it. 

And Tim revels in the victory, fleeting it may be. 

Except Dick doesn’t take the bait. 

He doesn’t even take time to inspect it. No — he just lounges away, completely at ease because he gets his fill of gourmet treats every day, so why would he ever even need to entertain the thought of nibbling on the cheap, wholesale bait Tim has to offer?

Damn him and his whole, beautiful family. 

Tim despises this feeling. Feeling small and weak, stuck in a body doused in pheromones that everyone wants except for himself. He has lived with it for years, but he knows he’ll never grow accustomed to it, much less enjoy it. And yet, others stare at him with envy, roving their eyes like a customer inspecting wares, whispering and wanting.

If he could, he’d let them have it all, but he can’t. He just can’t. 

Slowly, he brings his glass to his lips. Condensation drips, leaving his fingers numb. Despite that, he manages to tip the rim and down the rest of his water in a single swig before slamming the glass back down on the table with as much flourish and petulance as possible. 

“First get me a drink. A _real_ drink,” Tim says. 

Surprisingly, Dick beams before jumping into action. “Of course! What would you like? I’ve got just about everything here.”

“A vodka soda would be great. Extra vodka.”

Dick pauses, smile still and excitement muted. “Are you sure? I can get you something much more… palatable than that.”

“No, I’m really in the mood for a vodka soda. I need to watch my figure after all that food you kept forcing unto me.”

Dick’s smile drops into a frown, and it makes him look positively pitiful. “I don’t think you need to watch your figure at all. Besides, one night of food and drink won’t hurt.”

“Come now, people like you don’t pay me so much attention just because I have a nice face,” Tim counters. 

“What do you mean?” Dick asks, and Tim suspects that he’s exactly as confused as he looks. Of course, that only annoys Tim more. The overly-attentive alpha persona before him is apparently synonymous with Dick Grayson, and Tim’s not sure how much more of it he can take. 

Tim stands up. He makes sure to move deliberately, rolling up one vertebrae at a time with his neck long and shoulders pulled back. Honestly, the motions come from the yoga classes Kon insisted he take to try to relieve some of his bitchfest-inducing stress — as Stephanie describes it. Thankfully, it proves to be just as sensual as soothing in situations like this because Dick cannot take his eyes off of Tim as they rove over Tim’s body. 

It’s something like the gaze of a stalking beast. All hunger and heat. It churns the air around them. Makes it hard to breathe. 

It’s the kinda look Tim’s accustomed to. 

Even the most well-intentioned alpha’s — a rare breed among the rich and powerful — often can’t help themselves from looking down at Tim as if he were a prime cut of meat, fresh from the slaughter. It’s not exactly the most enticing look, but, after years of experience with it, it’s grown into something almost nostalgic. Or, at least easy. Easy to identify, easy to come to terms with, and even easier to manipulate. 

Tim bats his eyelashes as he approaches Dick, stepping lightly as he goes. He would hate to distract Dick from the show he’s putting on by heel-striking too hard on the freshly-lacquered wood panels beneath his feet. After all, his attention should be fixed elsewhere. Namely, the sliver of skin on his neck that never fails to peer its demure little head out when Tim tilts his head far enough to the side. When the angle hits seventy, the edge of his collar creeps up, bit by bit, until it peels away from his neck to reveal smooth, unmarred flesh.

It’s not nearly enough to leave a mark on, and the placement is all wrong for a mating bite. Nonetheless, Dick’s predictably enamored with it.

Tim stops a few inches in front of Dick before craning his head downwards, close enough until he can almost feel the ends of Dick’s perfectly groomed hair brush against his own cheek. It smells like honeysuckle and musk, and Tim wonders just how much Dick’s shampoo costs to make his hair shine with such blinding luster, even under the dim mood lighting he’s set up. 

“You really have the audacity to act like you don’t know what I mean when you’re staring at me like a starved hound?” Tim whispers.

Dick jerks away, like a faithful pooch who’s been disciplined for the first time. In the grand scheme of things, Tim has done nothing except give him a listless swat on the snout. Still, it’s apparently enough to bring back the sly devotion Dick insists on trying to woo Tim with.

“My apologies, I just can’t seem to help myself,” Dick says softly. Everything about him bleeds out softness, from the slow blink he uses to reorient himself to the easy parting of his lips. “Seeing you in front of me like this is a bit overwhelming.”

Tim snorts, but he does so elegantly. No point in ruining the illusion now. “Yes, yes, I’m sure. Now, where’s that drink?”

Finally, Dick gets up, leaving Tim be as he heads to his ridiculously extensive bar. Tim allows himself a few moments of blessed solitude before following. He dutifully watches Dick make his drink, begrudgingly gives Dick points for opening new, untampered bottles just for him, before taking the chilled glass from Dick’s hand and promptly knocking back three generous mouthfuls. 

It’s strong. Thank god. 

“Now will you answer my question?” Dick asks as he fixes himself his own drink. It resembles an old-fashioned. He doesn’t look like the type to drink them, but, really, what does Tim know about the Wayne’s despite their apparent obsession with him?

“Did you forget your little threat from before?” Tim retorts.

“You know it wouldn’t have mattered, at the end of the day. We’ve been negotiating this joint project for months now. Even if it were delayed by a bit, it would hardly change much in the long run.”

Tim takes another sip, long and drawn out this time. He needs a few seconds to come up with a suitable response because Dick’s right, and it takes a certain finesse to argue against the truth. That, and some alcohol in the veins. 

“I figured it would be good for business if we interacted more outside the meeting room and official gatherings. I also assumed that’s why you were so _insistent_ that I join you for dinner,” Tim eventually responds, keeping his words tight with the help of sour lime pulp riding on the back of his tongue. 

“Now who’s the one playing dumb?” Dick hums. His words reverberate against the mouth of his glass, and Tim hates how loud they grow. “You must have known that I had intentions other than getting to know a business partner better.”

“Are you finally admitting to inviting me over for more personal reasons, then?”

“Are you?”

Tim’s drink is strong and tastes suitably horrendous as a result. From watching Dick make it, there must be at least two shots of vodka in there, with maybe four ounces of seltzer water. So, forcing down the last remnants of it isn’t a pleasant affair, by any means, but at least the buzz is starting to get to him. 

He uses this newfound combination of liquid courage and mounting impatience to help propel him up from his seat. At the edge of his ascent, he meets Dick leaning across the beautiful wooden bar he’s propped himself up on, impetuous and prepared.

“Let’s make a deal,” Tim whispers, dipping his voice low and soft. He keeps his cadence to a lull and his tone wistful as he speaks — all the better to entice alpha’s with. Truly, he could probably speak to Dick with pure animosity, and Dick would likely still look at Tim as though he were some artisanal dessert just waiting to be savored. Sometimes, however, even he enjoys playing the game.

Dick too, seems more than happy to join in on the fun. “What are you proposing? Nothing too scandalous, I hope?” he teases.

Tim rolls his eyes and barely catches the way Dick follows its arc. “I think we’re past that point now.” He leans further across the countertop until his face hovers mere inches away from Dick’s. “I’m thinking super scandalous, in fact. For example, an agreement to increase Drake Industries’ share in revenues in addition to an extension of the tentative contract we’ve settled on so far.”

Dick hums again. It comes off nonchalant in the space between them, but the way it bounds off the ice in his glass rings with thinly-veiled interest. “And what do I get in return?”

“Why, me, of course.”

Dick responds by finishing his drink with one last tilt of his head before all but leaping across the bar. He’s all fluid in his motions, perfected and efficient without losing a single iota of grace. Evidently, you can take the boy out of the circus following a tragic accident splattered across headlines for weeks, but you can’t take the circus out of the boy. Or, something like that. Tim’s just trying to make note of Dick’s enduring acrobatic skills — for future reference for an odd future in which he needs it — but the feeling of Dick’s mouth on his, his chest flush against his, and deceptively large frame is kinda distracting.

He doesn’t kiss like Jason. That much Tim can attest to. For all the wanton ferocity Jason exuded, comprised of a raging need to push and push and _push_ until Tim stood bare and lost at the edge of his own senses, Dick matches it with eager desire. He, too, pushes, but he does so with a reverence that leaves Tim breathless and heady from both fervor and fever. 

Tim’s had plenty of keen partners in the past, romantically and physically. Normally, he handles them with little more than vague amusement and pride in the charm he’s cultivated over the years. Then, with a flick of his wrist and apologetic smile, he sends them off on their way. Easy. He knows them as easy — easy come, easy go, so easy to catch and release at his leisure. A game, really.

Dick is not a game. 

Tim likens kissing him to swimming against an endless current, crashing on the wake. He can keep his head up long enough to keep from drowning, but the waves never fail to pull his limbs down, taut and useless.

Just like Dick right now. While he doesn’t have as much sheer muscle mass as Jason, he clearly knows exactly how to use the ones he does have. For example, the hold he currently has on Tim is just shy of impenetrable, and Tim cannot stand it. 

“Hey, ease up. Being manhandled isn’t really a kink of mine,” Tim hisses. 

Thankfully, Dick complies without complaint, loosening his grip, and Tim can finally breathe easy again. At the same time, he ducks his head down, affixing his nose to the crook of Tim’s neck and _inhales_. “Are you sure you want to do this? Absolutely sure? Tell me if you don’t. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Promise.”

“What, you think I’m too proud to seduce others for my company?” Tim asks lightly. 

Dick manages to stop himself from tightening his grip again, but Tim still feels the aggrieved twitch of his fingers on his arms with stunning clarity. “That’s not what I mean.”

“If that’s the case, don’t be afraid to take me to your room. You’re not the worst bed partner I could have, you know.”

That finally seems to spur Dick into action. Without missing a beat, or wasting a single moment to pull away from Tim, Dick drags them both up the stairs and into his massive bedroom in a flash. Then, Tim suddenly finds himself flat on his back on what might be the softest bed he’s ever been on.

Curiously, he runs his hands over the sheets as Dick joins him. The thread count must be insufferably high for it to feel this nice. He supposes it only makes sense for the Wayne’s to have the best. 

Before he can think about it for much longer, Dick’s upon him. Surprisingly, the weight of Dick’s body pushing down against his own feels nicer than he expected. He drinks in the warmth of another as Dick leans down to resume their kiss, staring down at Tim with blazing blue eyes, pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed bright, and fingers practically vibrating with anticipation, and Tim decides that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to lay back and enjoy the moment. 

Because, while he has no regrets about leaving Jason like he did, it’s not like he didn’t want to have filthy sex with someone as wickedly handsome as Jason Todd. Unfortunately, the situation — and Jason’s attitude — left much to be desired. 

This, on the other hand, is a win-win situation, and Tim gets to win twice. His head buzzes pleasantly from the booze, urging him to meet Dick’s enthusiasm with some vigor of his own. He gladly surrenders to his more base desires, melting into the hands roving beneath his shirt, and it only gets better from there. 

Dick welcomes him with nary a qualm. When Tim starts palming at his shirt, whining for him to ‘just take it off, goddammit,’ Dick does so in a heartbeat. Then, he undresses even further. Before Tim can even blink his wanton haze away, they’re already stark naked and together.

Glorious. It’s glorious, and Tim bathes in it. 

“Damn, you look…_ good_,” Tim breathes.

He’s always been aware of how attractive Dick is. When come face-to-face with the human incarnate of near perfection, such observations happen easily. And, as petty as he can be, Tim takes pride in his honesty about how hot one of Gotham’s beloved alpha bachelors looks in that new suit of his. 

Being up close, on the other hand, proves to be an entirely different beast. 

Bruce Wayne, Jason, and even Damian, the youngest Wayne boy, all boast a broadness that Dick has never matched. Some claim it makes him look weak and slight in comparison. A fine specimen, no doubt. But nowhere the picturesque image of an alpha like the rest of them. 

They are invariably wrong. 

Dick is not Bruce or Jason or Damian, but he is maddeningly breathtaking in his own right. So much so that Tim only feels slightly embarrassed by the needy mewls that keep escaping his lips. He claws across Dick’s shoulders, down his well-defined deltoids to find the border of his scapula, and he _pulls_. Drags Dick down and down until their cocks brush together with delicious friction. 

Now, Tim really doesn’t mind his breathless moans. 

“If you think I look good, you should see yourself. God, I wish I had gotten that full-length mirror like Babs told me to. Then you’d be able to see just how beautiful you are,” Dick gusts. At least, Tim thinks that’s what he says. It’s hard to tell with certainty when the words come out muffled, thanks to the fact that Dick has latched his mouth against Tim’s collarbones without any sign of letting go. He lavishes the spot with rapt attention before nosing his way up the base of Tim’s throat, over his jaw and in front of his ear, breath hot and ragged, leaving behind dying trails of smoke and ember in its wake. 

Then, he suckles on Tim’s ear, and it’s all over. 

Tim’s ears have always been a weakness of his. With his first few sexual partners, he found it strange for his ears to be such a major erogenous zone. Unseemly, even. Then, he fell into bed with a man who knew exactly how to make the best of Tim’s little quirk, and the rest was history. 

Dick might be even better than that unforgettable man. He applies the perfect amount of pressure in all the right places, pushing here, pulling back there, keeping sure and steady over yonder, wherever it lays. Tim’s too overwhelmed with feeling like an aroused pile of putty to know exactly where Dick’s tongue is. All he knows is that Dick’s ministrations leave him feeling stupidly good.

Part of him wants to begrudge Dick for being such a good partner. There must be some cosmic law prohibiting a single person from being so blessed in both his daily and nightly activities. At least, there should be.

The other part of him is awash with gratefulness for the treat because it has been too long since his last good fuck.

“God, Tim, seeing you under me like this is a fucking dream. You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. So, so pretty,” Dick breathes. For emphasis, he presses his dick harder against Tim’s before grinding them together with an unabashed growl. His words sound terribly sincere, driving Tim to turn his head away in a vain attempt to escape them.

He’s never done well with people who get invested too fast, and he doesn’t want to. Especially not with people like Dick Grayson. 

“Enough of that. I assume you have lube around here somewhere,” Tim says, pushing back impatiently. With a roll of his hips, he silently implores Dick to get a move on; as much as he enjoys foreplay, even he only has so much restraint.

“Eager, are we?” Dick teases. Tim bares his teeth in response, only to be met with a light chuckle as Dick leans over to rummage through his nightstand. Then, before Tim can fully process Dick’s return, he feels a warm tongue pressed flat against his asshole.

Oh. _Oh_.

“What… are you doing?” Tim asks, and the stuttering of his breath very nearly mirrors the way his thighs shiver as Dick’s tongue prods further in. “I haven’t… had time to get myself ready, you know.”

Dick pulls away just far enough to speak. “You really think I care about that right now?”

“I guess not,” Tim replies because Dick’s already eating him out again, and it feels so stupidly good. 

Tim goes ahead and let’s Dick do as he pleases for some blissful minutes. He has no actual desire to stop him, and Dick also seems more than happy to continue what he started. He dives in deep, explores Tim with unbridled excitement, all while keeping a steady grip on Tim’s cock. Every so often, he strokes in time with a particularly intense thrust of his tongue, leaving Tim gasping for more as his vision blurs at the seams.

It’s amazing. All of it is undeniably amazing. Tim has truly, definitely needed this. He _needs_ it.

More than this, however, he needs more than just a tongue inside him.

With an admittedly pitiful whine, Tim kicks his legs out — nowhere near hard enough to hurt Dick at all, but it certainly catches his attention. “Come on, come on. You can do better than that.”

This time, Dick lifts his head up until he can meet Tim’s eyes. His expression is fitted with a sinful grin, chin slick with saliva and eyes gleaming in the lowlights. “Whatever do you mean by that?” he asks lightly. 

He’s teasing Tim, and he’s winning.

And Tim’s too horny to even care.

“Fuck me,” Tim demands. To further assert himself, he locks his knees around Dick’s neck, steady and firm. “Isn’t that what you want?”

“There are a lot of things I want,” Dick says cryptically. Nonetheless, the touch of his slick fingers against Tim’s entrance beget little hesitance. “But, tonight, it’s all about what you want.”

Then, he pushes in a finger, and Tim practically loses it. 

Dick takes ample time to prepare Tim nice and slow. The number of fingers increases gradually, no rush and plenty of soothing touches — on Tim’s thighs, his lower back, the crest of his shoulders, and more. A quintessential example of alpha care and diligence. The kind they manufacture for cheesy porn shoots targeted towards bereft and desperate omegas. 

Typically, Tim doesn’t ask for such things, nor does he dare expect it. It usually matters little to him, either way. 

But, he figures he loses nothing from indulging in it today. If Dick’s so keen on giving it, why not receive it with a smile and a moan?

Tim relaxes into the silky-soft sheets beneath him and focuses solely on soaking in the feeling of three fingers — long and warm, they hit that spot he loves oh-so much with ease — so Dick can continue to rollick in his more saccharine instincts. Though, to be fair, judging by the steady hand weighing down on Tim’s hip, he’s not sure if Dick let Tick do much, even if he wanted to. 

Eventually, though, Tim gets his chance to prove that he’s not just a pretty little starfish in bed; when Dick pulls his fingers out to hastily roll on a condom, Tim surges forward, landing a rough and wet kiss on Dick’s mouth. His lips are still damp from the attention he gave Tim’s asshole earlier, and his tongue meets Tim’s with equal fervor. Wordlessly, Tim moves to plant himself in Dick’s lap. Dick makes it easier for him by hauling him up by his ass and thrusts inside in one, smooth snap of his hips.

And Tim sees stars. 

He can’t help the guttural moan that escapes his lips. He can barely even think straight. His otherwise occupied senses are all focused on how thick Dick is and how he’s so unfairly good at getting in deep, pressing everywhere at once with so much heat that Tim couldn’t possibly escape. As if he wants to escape in the first place. No, he wants to live in this moment for hours, days, bury himself into it because he has not felt this good in so long, and _he deserves it._

“Oh, fuck,” Tim whimpers. He sounds helpless. He _feels_ helpless. Clinging to Dick’s shoulders, even the dimmed bedroom lights prove too intense for him. He whines again before burying his face into Dick’s neck to ride the rest of it out in relative stability.

Of course, Dick doth protest too much.

“Don’t do that. I wanna see your face,” Dick says. 

Tim refuses to budge.

“Tim?”

No.

“Alright, then,” Dick says, and Tim believes he has won this round.

Tim is a fool.

Suddenly, Dick pulls out, leaving Tim woefully empty and wanting.

Well, that’s one way to get Tim to show his face again. After all, Dick deserves to see exactly how displeased Tim is right now. “What — ?” 

“I want to see you,” Dick repeats, each syllable clear and pointed. “I won’t be able to fully enjoy our little deal if I don’t get to see your face.”

“I thought this was about what I wanted.”

“I suppose I’m not so nice after all.”

With big, pleading eyes, a pout borne from well-ravaged lips, and a lecherous roll of his hips, Tim silently urges Dick to stop being so stubborn and just fuck him again. Dick rebuffs his attempts with so much ease it’s offensive. Not to mention, he has the gall to taunt Tim. His cock rests firmly in the crease of Tim’s ass as he drags it over Tim’s hole with languish. 

For all his brazen veneration from earlier, Dick plays unaffected infuriatingly well.

A few moments pass. The stalemate lingers, as does the heat of Dick’s cock, tantalizing in the face of Tim’s desire.

Tim’s erection continues to stand strong. His dick demands relief, and his ass craves Dick. If this were any other situation, he might laugh at the absurdity of this stupid wordplay he just thought of. 

As it stands, he can only give in.

“Fine,” Tim hisses. “I’ll stare at you all you like with the pretty face you like so much while you fuck me. Is that good enough for you?”

“So good.”

In a flash, Dick thrusts back inside Tim with a delectable force, but not without pushing Tim down onto the bed. Stretched far and wide, the image of Dick Grayson crowds Tim’s sight. Beauty and blue abounds, sprinkled with a diamond-cut jaw and unrelenting. He thrusts again, perfect, and Tim falls right back into it. 

“Feel good, huh?” Dick growls as he pulls Tim closer to him. “Doesn’t it feel good? Don’t I make you feel so good?”

Tim can’t properly respond because it’s too overwhelming. Dick overwhelms him, surrounds him, presses his chest flush against Tim’s. They share heat and sweat as Tim’s dick slides against Dick’s abdomen. Relentless sensations leave Tim lightheaded, almost terrifyingly so, but the flex of Dick’s arms around his sides ground him. Assure him he’s still alive.

And, God, does he need it when he comes untouched. His vision smears from the center out before it goes white, and all Tim’s left with is searing bliss and the steady weight of Dick encompassing the air around him. When he finally comes back to his senses, all he can think about is how Dick Grayson gave him what might be one of the best orgasms of his entire life.

Next thing he knows, he’s being carried away to the bathroom like a naive, blushing bride. Gentle hands and the fluffiest towel ever conceived bathe him with meticulous care. Tim ventures a look upwards, only to be met with a man whose expression looks way too soft considering what just happened between them. 

Dick hands him a plain T-shirt and a pair of boxers that must be years old if Tim can fit into them. Tim stares at him blankly. 

“What are those for?”

Like a freshly-weaned retriever pup, Dick tilts his head in confusion. “Well, you can’t sleep in your regular clothes, and I assume you didn’t bring your own change of clothing.”

“Of course not. Why would I, when I’m heading home right after you help me get cleaned up?”

The kicked puppy look from earlier returns with a vengeance. Tim, quite frankly, is tired of it. 

“Please, imagine how _scandalous_ it would be if the tabloids caught sight of me skulking out of your apartment in the wee hours of the morning,” Tim continues. He quickly shimmies his way out of Dick’s grip and only feels slightly surprised that Dick lets him go so easily. “Besides, I haven’t been sleeping well recently, so I’d really like to lay in my own bed tonight to help with that.”

A half lie. While it is true that Tim’s sleep has been lacking recently, it’s not like he’ll be able to get much more tonight. Dick doesn’t know that, however, and appealing to those honeysuckle sweet instincts of his is just one more part of the game. 

Dick sighs, trailing Tim’s every step as they tromp through the bedroom together, picking up scattered clothing off the ground. Then, while Tim’s otherwise occupied with getting dressed, Dick rummages through his desk before approaching him again with his phone number scrawled on a piece of paper. “Alright, but promise me you’ll let me know when you get home. It’d kill me if something happened to you just because I let you be stubborn.”

It takes every bit of strength Tim has to avoid rolling his eyes. How presumptuous. How annoying, knowing what Dick’s trying to do — integrate himself into Tim’s life bit by bit. 

Still, he was one of the best fucks Tim’s ever had, so he reluctantly agrees.

Later, as he sits hunched over his desk, his phone pings with a text from  
Dick, and Tim wonders who really got the win-win tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL why are my sex scenes always so long!!
> 
> anyway, as usual, pls tell me what you think! i'm a lazy poop and don't usually respond to comments, but i love to read them <3

**Author's Note:**

> wow i am back but with a new WIP bc i am terrible LOL


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